


Lick Your Lips & Fuck Suicide

by ravenpuffles



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drug Addiction, Drug-Induced Sex, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Misogyny, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other, Physical Abuse, Racist Language, Rating May Change, Recreational Drug Use, Torture, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-31 08:23:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3970837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenpuffles/pseuds/ravenpuffles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which things are not as bad as they could've been (or were).</p>
<p>After Sage and Penny's lives are thrown into instability, the two girls crash-land into NoCal with a big secret. As they enter into the life of a local motorcycle gang, they soon realize their pasts are catching up to them, unannounced.</p>
<p>(Ignore how cliche that sounds)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On The Road To Nowhere Fast

**Author's Note:**

> So a few notes:  
> If you have a problem with homoerotic subtext (and not so subtext), stop reading.  
> If you have a problem with Tig and Venus, stop reading. (That's in the tags, so if you do, I don't know why you clicked on it anyway)  
> This is a canon divergence, so it's not going to follow anything that happens post-s3.  
> These characters do not belong to me, they belong to Sutter, i'm just writing about my own ideas and my own headcanons about the club.  
> This is from an outsiders perspective, so it might be a bit darker than the show.  
> I have a tumblr that you can follow for updates (mainly because I don't know how the fuck to post them on here) lickyourlipsfucksuicide.tumblr.com.  
> This is a total HC, so please be gentle.  
> Criticism is always welcome, just don't be a dick about it.  
> I'm not sure when i'll update.

It was almost 2 am when two girls walked into the cramped diner off Route 66. The air was stale and smelled largely of stale coffee and soggy eggs. There was nothing special about either of them, they both looked half-starved and half-crazed against the harsh neon. They stumbled into a small booth closest to the door, one falling asleep instantly as she laid her head on the cool tabletop. The waitress made a note to bring the girls some crackers after she made her rounds.

“You girls are out awfully late. Road tripping?” The waitress smiled wide. Trying to pass the time with customers was part of the job, night shift always dragged. “Can I get you some coffee?”

The girls didn’t respond right away. The one whom the waitress mistook for being asleep shifted around to look at the other, who continued to stare at the center of the table.

“Two sweet teas, thank you Darlene,” the one closest to the waitress replied, looking at the nametag through narrowed eyes. Her voice rang through the near empty diner, more intense than expected. “If you don’t have that, we’ll take water.”

Darlene nodded, walking away swiftly. _Not much for talking,_ she guessed.

Ten minutes later, the girls ordered and Darlene was filling salt-shakers at the bar watching them. They both looked tired, the way a person looks after losing themselves in something. She could see the remnants of, what she assumed, they were running from trying to claw its way back to the surface behind their eyes. She’d seen truckers, men running from their jobs, women from their husbands, and kids from all sorts of situations pass through wearing the same expressions. It was hard to miss.

The food hit the window and she sauntered over with another wide smile, “You two need anything else?”

The one who spoke shook her head, “No thank you, ma’am. I think we’re good.” The other just grunted.

“Okay, let me know.”

The rest of the night passed slower than a snail traveling through peanut butter. Darlene finished the salt-shakers, married the ketchups, stacked the menus, and had just started cleaning the countertops before she realized she hadn’t heard a peep from her two girls. Frowning, she straightened up and waltzed over to find an empty booth and a lone 50 dollar bill on the table. No other trace the girls had even been there.

 

\----------

 

Sage drove for what felt like hours before they finally reached the California state line. She planned to stop there, find a motel, and bunk down for the night but her foot just kept on the gas. The same thing happened as they were passing through Oklahoma, they had been driving for so long she forgot how to stop. She made a promise to herself to pull off when she couldn’t stay awake.

_Overexposure to the road._ She chalked it up to. _You’re just in the zone_.

Penelope snorted from the passenger seat and Sage rolled her eyes. _Here we go._

“You planning on stopping once we hit the water? Or do you just want us to drown?”

Sage sighed, “Uh huh, I’m not driving through the whole damn state. We just passed the line.”

“Yeah, like an hour ago,” Penelope looked at her incredulously.

“Huh,” They drove in silence for another half hour before Sage pulled off the interstate with a jerk. “I guess we’re sleeping in Charming. Might stay for a bit, I’m too tired to drive tomorrow.”

Penelope mumbled something along the lines of ‘thank god’.

 

\----------

 

“We’re staying here?” Penelope asked lightly, grabbing her bag from the backseat of the old pickup.

Sage nodded, throwing her backpack over her shoulder. “Cheapest place in town,” she mimicked, pointing at the obtrusive neon sign above them. It read _Charming Motel: cheapest place in town and ‘charming’ service._ The M was flickering in an out, making shadows across the parking lot danced like it was Dia de los Muertos.

As they walked inside, Sage couldn’t help the nagging feeling that they didn’t belong here. The air was thin and dry, and shocked her lungs every time she tried to breathe deep. She missed the humid, summer air of the East Coast. She missed the way the sun warmed her skin, instead of beating down on her, punishing her for attempting to come this far West. This place was going to break her, she knew it.

She sat down on one of the couches inside as Penelope went to get them a room. She stared at the off-green chairs across from her and wondered what hell they had wandered into. The front room looked like it had endured a cheap remodel from a knock-off of Better Homes and Gardens. A bookshelf stood cluttered in the corner and the room smelled vaguely of Indian food. A maid squeezed by her and onto the couch, where she propped up reading a People. Sage rolled her eyes and the maid snorted.

A few awkward minutes later, Penelope was at her side gesturing for her to get up. “Come on, Thelma!”

Sage stopped mid-step and looked at her friend, unamused. “Why?”

Penelope continued out the door, turning to look at Sage, “They needed a name. I’m your Louis.”

“No, you’re definitely Thelma.”

Penelope stopped and thought for a moment, before shrugging and inserting the key into the reader. “You’re probably right, but at least Thelma gets some.”

“Uh huh.”


	2. There Will Be Teeth In The Grass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this chapter is in dream form. Let me know if it's hard to follow.

_Blood._

_There’s so much fucking blood._

_She’s screaming so loud her throat his raw but she can’t hear herself. A pressure around her throat and abdomen is keeping her from moving. She can’t tell if she’s crying._

_Are those tears on her face or is it more blood?_

_Her fingers are growing numb. She can’t feel her legs._

_Does she even have feet anymore?_

_Why can’t she hear herself?_

_Is the pressure on her throat keeping her from screaming?_

_She feels lightheaded and woozy. The edges of her brain are ebbing away. She feels light._

_As quickly as it came, the pressure is released and she can breathe again. She gasps for air like a fish out of water. Feeling runs back into her body and she sighs._

_Mentally, she’s screaming again. When her surroundings come back into focus, she starts to panic. She’s in a warehouse. There’s a chair next to her, where she was just chained._

_How does she know that?_

_She’s lying in a puddle of blood, and judging by the lifeless body to her other side, it’s not her own. However, she might be next. There’s a man on top of her._

_Who is he?_

_Yuri Slovok. He is the most deadly man on the East Coast and works for the highest bidder._

She has lived this moment over and over again for months. She knows what happens next.

_Yuri jerks her up, his body dwarfing her own. She feels much smaller than she actually is when compared to the Russian. He stands at almost 7 feet tall and holds her at eye level with ease, as if she weighed no more than a small child. He opens his mouth into a grimace, his yellow teeth glaring against his chapped pink lips_

_“You vill listen to me,” he snarls, spit flying into her face. She doesn’t blink. She never blinks. She doesn’t even breathe. “If I find you again, I vill kill you.”_

_He drops her to the floor with a thud, and she lands on her ankle. Pain shoots up her side and she screams. She can hear herself now._

_Yuri turns, angry at her outburst. He rears his hand back, and sends it flying down toward her face…_

Cold palms pressed into her cheeks and she jolted awake. Sage jerked up, with an earsplitting scream that pierced through any other sound in the motel. She backed away in a panic, and hit the headboard with a thump. Penelope flew back to the edge of the bed and threw her hands up in defense. Sage, still manic, reached from the gun on the bedside table.

“Hey! It’s me! It’s just me!” Penelope yelled, ducking away. She flipped the switch, letting light pours in from the bathroom.

Sage exhaled heavily in an attempt to regulate her heartbeat. “I’m sorry… I just… I’m sorry,” she managed to stutter. “Nightmares.”

Penelope stared for a while. Sage hated it when she stared. Penelope had this irritating knack of keeping her face completely blank and just watching her surroundings. When she stared at Sage like that, Sage always thought Penelope looked like she was seeing something pitiful.

"You gonna stop staring?" She spit out, reaching for a pack of Marlboro's on the table beside her.

"Sorry," Penelope said, looking down quickly.

Sage huffed through her nose. "I didn't mean it so harsh."

Her friend nodded slowly. "I know, it's just that," she paused, mulling over the words. "Are you still having nightmares about home?"

"I wasn't home then," Penelope watched as Sage lit her cigarette and took a long drag. "I just have nightmares is all."

"Right," Penelope nodded quickly and stood up. "Well, tell your nightmares to stop interrupting your sleep. It's not good for anyone."

Sage snorted and took another drag, letting the menthol burn her mouth and throat. _If only._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The guys might pop up in the next chapter or the one after next, I haven't decided.


	3. I've Got a Head Full of Wreckage and A Mouthful of Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writer's block is a motherfucker, guys. I'm trying. Sorry. I have 6/17-6/19 off, so I should update more.

Two months later, Sage was hauling what little personals they had into a one bedroom apartment on the eastern side of Charming. Much to Sage’s surprise, Penelope had settled down with a job within the first month, a quaint florist cashier where they let her sit down, and started saving up for anywhere more permanent than a motel room. Bartending was the only thing Sage was relatively good at (as far as legal employment went), so eventually, they both had scrounged enough money to find a beat-up, top floor apartment in the not-so-exciting part of the not-so-exciting town. They got it cheap, from a landlord that was uncurious about everything except rent.

Sage was pretty happy about it, too. Penelope had just started to show, and soon they’d need all of the money they could get. Their runaway cash stash was wearing thin and Penelope’s stomach was growing bigger. It was only a matter of time before they had three mouths to feed, and Sage wasn’t exactly into the idea of getting back into her old business. Better to keep the money they had as a reserve for emergencies and live off income for now.

She was jerked out of her thoughts by a soft thump of Penelope dropping the last of their shit in the doorway.

“This floor is fucking hideous,” Penelope clicked her tongue disapprovingly at the old 90s style, blue wall-to-wall carpet beneath their feet. It looked like the murky color of the sea before a rainstorm and was stained with a few uncomfortably unknown substances. “It looks like someone was murdered here,” she paused to shoot Sage a playful look, “DUNDUNDUN.”

Sage stared as her friend accented every syllable with a piano playing-like hand movement. “You’re over-exaggerating.”

“You never know, that’s probably the reason we got it so cheap,” the other responded, walking in line with the moldings. “It’s like they never cleaned this place afterwards. Do they not know what steam cleaners are? You gotta hide the evidence!”

Forever amazed at Penelope’s ability to sound cheerful as spoke about even the most morbid of subjects, Sage rolled her eyes. “Probably not, and now that I think about it... It was pretty cheap.”

Penelope dropped all emotion from her face. “What if it’s haunted?”

“Then you’re fucked. Don’t you know ghosts are attracted to pregnant women?” Penelope shot Sage a look. “No, I’m fucking serious, dude. They want to impregnate you with their ghostly seed, so it can possess your baby and become the anti-Christ.”

“Joke’s on you, my baby already is the anti-Christ,” Penelope grinned and rubbed the slight bulge over her stomach. “How do you like the name Malachi?” Sage smiled back at her friend. It was nice to see her joking around again.

“Right, well, I call couch. You know, since you’re all pregnant and shit,” Sage snorted.

Penelope dead stared for a few moments before busting out into a fit of giggles, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. Sage cocked an eyebrow. “Sorry, sorry! It’s just…you know, we forgot to get a bed!” Penelope giggled again.

Shit. That was what, another two hundred at the very least? Sage’s shoulders tensed as the stress hit her in a wave. Penelope apparently felt it too, her brow tightened in concern.  
“Hey, it’s fine. We’ll get a mattress, and until then we’ll make do.”

Sage sighed, breathed deeply in and out for a few minutes. Penelope was a nervous silent presence on the couch. “Yeah, it’s all good. I’ll find something tomorrow.”  
______________________________

Penelope had insisted that she could sleep on the floor until they bought a bed, but didn’t look particularly content to be laying on the mysteriously stained carpet, blankets or no blankets. Sage refused to let that happen at all, and all but forced Penelope onto the second-hand couch, whilst Sage herself slept on the floor next to her. It wasn’t comfortable but she’d handled worse. She wasn’t about to allow a pregnant woman sleep on the floor while at least some sort of comfort was available.

After about 4 hours of unsettled sleep, Sage pulled herself into the truck to search for a bedframe and mattress. She was aiming for hand-me-down, but would pay bulk price if needed. The thought of which wasn’t exactly an exciting prospect as the cash stash seemed to be dwindling by the second. No more splurges, no matter what Penelope said.

She was halfway through town when her truck jolted forward violently before cutting the engine all together. Sage stared at the check engine light for a few moments before she turned the key again and got nothing but a soft whining sound from the engine. She dropped her head onto the steering wheel with a THUD, trying not to freak the hell out. Today was not her day.

In what seemed like no time (she wasn’t really counting), there was a soft tapping on the window. She looked up to see a cop staring at her, bemused and asking for her to step out of the car.

Sage crawled out of the truck, standing almost toe-to-toe with the deputy. Great. “Yeah?”

“Yeah?” The cop snorted. “Wanna tell me why your truck isn’t moving in the middle of the street?”

Sage looked around at the people on the sidewalk, staring at her. She knew she probably looked way to alt for a cookie cutter, apple pie town. It was the whole reason she’d left home.

“Stopped working.” Sage wasn’t one for conversation, stranger danger and all that. Least of all with officials. “Get me a tow truck?”

The cop’s eyebrows shot up. “Get you tow truck?” His nametag read HALE. “Yeah, I’ll fucking get you a tow truck.” The cop shook his head and pulled out his cell before walking off.

Nice way to stay under the radar there, Tank. Sage thought, kicking her tires. If she was going to keep a low profile, pissing off one the town's badges was not the way to do it. Her paranoia had gotten the better of her. Again.

“I’m new. Don’t know the number. Knew you’d show up, though. Thought I’d ask,” she shrugged when he returned back to her truck. “Sorry.”

Hale shook his head, “No problem, right?” She nodded. She could feel his eyes scanning over her, thoroughly unimpressed with her alt-chic. “Good, and look, the guys I’m sending you to… don’t get involved. Let ‘em fix you up, then leave. I don't need anymore trouble.”

Sage nodded, not understanding most of what Hale was saying. She wasn’t here to get involved with small town life, just to get a bed and retreat back to their apartment until work.


	4. Am I Going To Die Here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been three years, I know, don't judge.
> 
> A lot has happened - I basically broke up with my best friend, got another roommate, moved out from those two roommates and in with my boyfriend. We have three dogs and I have a full time job.
> 
> Enjoy!

Gus pulled a pickup into the lot. The old Chevy looked as though it was on its last leg and Tig rolled his eyes. He hated people who couldn’t keep their own vehicles in shape, it made more work for him. Not to mention, the parts that were usually needed weren’t kept in the garage, they had to order them. That usually meant more bitching on the customers part. He really did not need some idiot barking in his ear. He knew how to do his damn job.  
The passenger door of the Teller-Morrow truck swung open and a sleek black heel popped out. The girl attached to it gathered her purse and followed shortly, slipping out of the car with systematic ease. Tig noticed that with every step she took towards him, her eyes shifted over the lot and the people in it. She was watching everything. He strode towards her, scowling.  
Her face was stone cold when she stuck her hand out to shake his. “Penelope,” her voice steady and calculating. “We need an opinion on my friend’s car.”  
Tig shrugged, looking past her and at the hatchback. “It’s shitty,” he replied. He looked back at her, ignoring her handshake.  
She grinned insincerely. “Funny,” she shook her hair off her shoulders and pursed her lips, withdrawing her hand. “I’m serious. Something is wrong with the engine and neither of us can tell what it is. We’re not used to the particulars of mechanics.”  
Tig looked at this woman, Penelope. Bemused, he replied, “Your friend bought a car she doesn’t know how to maintain?”  
“It was a gift,” Penelope retorted stiffly.  
She was surprisingly soft-looking for the curtness in her voice. She was curvy, not unlike his mother, fair-skinned, and feminine. She reminded him of a cloud. Dark brown hair fell straight past her shoulders and laid on a short, ruffled white dress that made her look even fairer and pulled just tight enough for him to see her small bump. The only part of her that fit the ruggedness of her surroundings was her face. It was pulled into a firm expression, and he noted that she was probably faking her ‘pleasantness’. Her eyes were powerful, yet emotionless. Her entire presence screamed money, and if he hadn’t seen her get out of the damned truck himself, he would’ve sworn she drove up in a Mercedes.  
Tig looked over Penelope and to her friend, who was leaning on the driver door with her arms crossed. “That’s a shitty gift,” he called.  
Her friend nodded. “Tell me about it,” she then pinched her lips together and started chewing on her lip.  
The girls didn’t look like they belonged together. The friend looked she’d been picked right up out of a dirt bike rally. She had hair up in a bun, a crop top, baggy jeans, a flannel tied around her waist, and boots. Tig swore he saw about 8 different piercings on each ear, as well.  
Tig could tell the friend was uncomfortable, something about this place was making her uneasy. Her eyes were shifting about, just as Penelope’s did. She crossed her ankles and stared at the clubhouse, eyebrows furrowed. Tig followed her gaze to the benches where Jax, Opie, and Chibs sat. They were all wearing their cuts. He looked back at the friend who was now frowning, focusing intently on the guys.  
“What’s her problem?” he asked softly, turning back to Penelope. She was watching him patiently.  
She turned to look at her friend. “Sage’s had a tumultuous few months. She’s just being cautious, don’t be insulted.” She grinned at Tig, a little more sincere. “Besides, you’re not exactly in the position to be casting stones, you’ve had that glower on your face since we pulled in.”  
If anyone else had used that language around Tig, he would’ve thought they were insulting him. He could tell by the look on Penelope’s face that was not her intention.  
Tig shrugged, walking over to the car. Not even two minutes into scouting, he found the problem. “Your front wheels feel uneven? Your steering wheel shaking?”  
Sage nodded.  
Tig looked between the two. “It’s not your engine, it’s a body problem.”  
Sage snorted, unladylike, and Penelope’s face broke out into amusement. “Well that would be why we couldn’t find the problem,” she chuckled.  
Tig shook his head, walking back to the garage. Penelope followed. “It will take about a week for new parts, we don’t keep ‘em for old models like this in the shop.”  
Penelope waved that off, shaking her head. “It’s okay, we’ve got a motel room booked for 5 more nights. We could extend that a bit. How long after that would it take to fix the car?”  
Tig looked over his shoulder, “Like about 2 hours.” He thrusted her a clipboard and pen and pointed her to a door, “Information. We need it. We’ll call you when it’s done.”  
Penelope took it, gratefully. She turned on her heel and headed into the shop’s office.

~

Sage exited the tow truck and leaned against the driver door.  
“Your friend just gonna do the talkin’?” The man who picked them up looked incredulous at her friend.  
“Couldn’t stop her if I wanted to,” Sage retorted and the man just walked around to the back, lowering the Chevy to the ground, before unhitching it.  
Penelope had all but strutted up to the mechanic with tattoos and icy blue eyes, who Sage assumed was also the garage manager. Sage rolled her eyes, her friend shouldn’t even be here. If she hadn’t broke down in front of the damn shop Penelope worked at, she could’ve just done this herself. Yet, here they were: stuck in the lot of a mechanic shop, Penelope dressed like something out of a Calvin Klein magazine and ordering around large, greasy men.  
Sage saw the man scowl, unaccustomed to Penelope’s forthright personality. She did have that way about herself, a way that people were just not used to. Sage chuckled to herself. Penelope would walk straight into a life or death situation and try to sweet talk her way out. That was just her style.  
The man said something to Sage, to which she replied abruptly. She wasn’t really paying attention and didn’t want to deal with small talk. She was too busy observing. The garage was small, dingy, and overcrowded. It reminded her of an alleyway. There were two cars inside, both being worked on by greasy, sweaty men that all looked similar to her father.  
Gross. She looked across the lot, noticing a row of Harley’s lined up perpendicular to the office of the garage. Most were Dynas and Sage thought they looked juvenile. Most had risers that gave the illusion of a half-assed mod job, save for two. One looked more rebellion laden, the other was just a better custom make. It looked more like a crotch rocket, but Sage gave respect. At least it wasn’t a shitty custom. All of them had some type of detailing on the tank, a few saying “Sons of Anarchy”, the rest with either a reaper or just the S.O.A.  
Holy shit. She thought. We’re on a fucking gang’s lot. Her eyes widened and eyebrows shot up almost to her forehead, but she stopped herself from jaw-dropping. This was neither the time nor the place to raise awareness.  
She stared straight ahead towards the other building on the site. There were stairs that let up to a concrete patio. An overhang casted shade, and there were three tables underneath, and a fucking boxing ring. Incidentally, there were guys all sitting on the tables, staring straight back at her. Three of them. The one closest to the steps was leaning forward, elbow placed on his knee, with his hand rubbing at his chin, thinking. He had blonde stringy hair, he wore a white t-shirt that was way too big for him, and white air forces; he looked like he’d forgotten what year it was. Over his shirt, he wore a kutte, like the one Sage’s uncle wore.  
The other two were less greasy looking, more intimidating. The guy next to “Air-Forces” had to be at least 6 foot 3, with a grizzly brown beard, tired eyes, and a stone cold face that was unreadable. His arms and ankles were crossed, and he was leaning back on the table, watching Sage down his nose. She instantly disliked him, she didn’t like people she couldn’t read. The second guy sat on top of the table itself, half of his body turned away from the other two and Sage, but his torso was twisted around so he could look at her. His eyes were small, he wore a kerchief under his kutte, and sunglasses where on his head, keeping his hair from falling onto his face. He looked, from where she was standing, like he was grimacing, but she couldn’t tell. All–in–all, they looked like a biker gang.


End file.
